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((Mind if I join?))A shriek far in the distance? He couldn’t be sure; ever since he had entered this forest he heard all kinds of strange, almost chilling noises. Feline ears swiveled to face the direction of the noise, but he paid it no mind. The sound would have come from above, he figured, and therefore was no concern to him. Of course, ever since he had wandered into this forsaken collection of trees he regretted every second.

He was far from home now, but exactly how far he couldn’t be sure. Weeks, perhaps months he traveled. When he had first seen the forest in the distance he figured it might be a safe place to lay low, and perhaps collect himself; it turned out far more arduous than he expected. Reminiscing on the past made him realize that every time he had ever wandered through any forest, something detrimental had occurred; he should have known better.

With slightly less agility than a tiger should have, he trudged through branches and vines, making a ruinous mess of the place. He didn’t care anymore; if they came, they came. A slight advantage was granted him through his ebony fur, dark like the environment around him. But luck never favored him completely, as was evident with his scarlet red stripes; they called for predators like a giant neon sign. His crimson eyes never stopped scanning, determined not to be caught off guard again. But then again, things never seemed to go the way he planned.

He took slight comfort in knowing his two long, double-edged swords were sheathed securely to either side of his hips. Unlike other members of his race, he wore no armor. To his people he was labeled a berserker; berserkers being notorious for preferring the weightless-ness of simple clothing, rather than the protection of metal plating. So he wore a simple cloth belted around his waist, which draped to his kneecaps. The belt was brown, the cloth scarlet to match his stripes, tattered and frayed with age.

As the realization of just how lost he really was finally sunk in, he halted dead in his tracks. Sighing deeply, he combed his claws through his messy, black hair. His hair was long, extending the length of his shoulders, but coming just shy of hiding the two gaping ruts between his shoulder blades.

Forced from home, he had been told to wait, but for what he did not know. All Zethos Katsumie knew for certain was that whatever he was waiting for, he was sure to never find it here.

At first he was completely oblivious to what was going on around him; at times he could be quite focused, but at other times he was completely ignorant. It was that very lack of focus that blinded him to a stranger circling the area around him. A moment passed before a swift wind picked up, sending the strong scent of something nearby to his nostrils. He couldn’t be sure of the creature’s race at first, but it smelled almost of the Avian from where he called home. This put him at full alert, curling his ebony fingers around the hilt of one of his blades. He stood ready, ears now twisting and rotating in every direction. His tail lashed wildly behind him. Why couldn’t he hear anything? Not even the slightest sound of leafs crumbling or branches cracking? Not even the Avian near Xaithara could fly through a dense forest like this, but he was sure of the fact that the creature was moving. A form of magic? He wondered, contemplating the sound he had heard earlier.

Feline eyes scanned every tree near and around him, eyes that luckily had the power to see in the dark. When he caught the quick glimpse of something moving, his left hand grasped tighter on his blade, unsheathing the weapon.

“Mahsonesse nieterian, pahlach. Make your presence known.” His voice was commanding and experienced, but also carried a hint of paranoid uncertainty.

Her words actually brought a sense of relief to him, despite the obvious disdain in her voice. At least now he knew whatever was out there could speak, unlike the raving creatures he had already come across. Generally beings that could speak were also capable of rational decision making, and wouldn’t attack on a whim simply because he looked like a tasty snack. He had never heard of the term ‘scaredy cat’ before, though he assumed she meant it as an insult.

“Only dogs run with their tails between their legs.”

His ears stopped turning, pinpointing the direction in which she spoke. He turned until he faced that direction, peering through the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of the female. When she began chanting he became intrigued; he had never before heard that language. He doubted very highly she was talking to him; they had already established a dialog, there would be no reason to try to communicate in another language. Of course, that raised the question, what was she doing? He wasn’t willing to concede to a confrontation unless he had no other choice, but he feared the only prevention would require a little more tact on his part.

“My species is irrelevant, but I wasn’t right to command. Consider it a request.”